


Beneath the Roots of the Mountain

by Morgause1



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blood, Body Worship, Cruelty, Cuddles, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, Foot Fetish, Kink, Love, M/M, Melkor and Mairon love each other very much, Nothing bad happens to Mairon!, Orcs, Other, Pretty triggering stuff, Sex, Smut, Soul Bond, Torture, Vala/maia, Victim Blaming, You really shouldn’t read this lol, angbang, gratuitous descriptions of sexuality, implied rape, run for your life, you know it's a trap right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 03:57:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12879687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/pseuds/Morgause1
Summary: Steamy, kinky Angbang sex in the dungeons. What could possibly go wrong? ;-)





	Beneath the Roots of the Mountain

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t read this story.

Eru save us lest we ever fall into the hands of Morgoth Bauglir!

Thus whisper the Elven soldiers as we all huddle around the fire on the cold nights of wartime, sneaking glances around to see that none of their superiors hears this kind of talk. For he is not unaccustomed to various acts of cruelty and villainy towards his captives: some of the torture methods he uses are spiritual, attacking the fëa. Other methods involve inflicting pain upon the hröa. But some of his tortures are… carnal, in a way that crudely contradicts the Adversary’s divine origin. Those of the soldiers who still remember the light of Aman and the piety of the Valar are doubly repelled by the tales of his lecherousness. Some, who are perhaps better pupils of Nienna, speak in hushed tones of his Maiar: hapless creatures drawn into his darkness, forever Bound to serve him who is the ultimate Bane of all Creation. How they must suffer, and not even death could release them from their pain. Others, those who were born in these lands and never left to see the miracles of the gods, spit upon the ground and curse, calling Misfortune upon the heads of all those who serve him.

The Elves are correct, of course, but not entirely so, and this little barb of untruth bites deep into my flesh, demanding more accurate knowledge. Ah! I see that you, too, are intrigued. Therefore let us have another swig of the soldiers’ wine, Reader, and leaving them by their campfires set out to brave the dungeons of Angband, where the Dark Vala sits on his subterranean throne. Will you come with me? I offer you no protection but the blinding veil of curiosity and the promise of a saucy story. Curiosity killed the cat, they say, but hope grows strong on these nights when the stars of Elbereth pierce through the clouds and with it comes courage. Perhaps we might be lucky enough to learn some secret truths. You _will_ come with me, lion-hearted friend? I am glad indeed. Then bid good-night to light and kindness, for now we plunge into that utmost dark where few of the Eldar (or Edain-that-are-to-come) heroes dare to go. Do not fear! I will find us safe passage through the vast walls, around the sleepless guards, and in between the things that lurk and rave at the courts of the Marrer. Am I not true to my word? See – we are already inside.

Pace softly, dear Reader: an ungentle step on these stone floors will echo far and wide to rain Orcs on our heads, scimitars and fangs thirsty for a taste of blood. And listen carefully, for I will whisper in your ear all I know of this horrid place, as we descend into the belly of the mountain to find our prey – the Evil God himself, whose rage and lust shake the very ground beneath our feet.

While it is true that the Incarnate slaves’ fate is horrifying indeed, the same could not be said of the Dark One’s Maiar. The Elvish slaves have their own special sweetness, but alas! their frail bodies do not last long enough to fully satisfy the Morgoth’s desires. Humans, you ask? Well, it is claimed that Morgoth has never had a Human pleasure-slave before, as Humans are scarce still in these lands. Maiar are better suited for the task anyway, and none are better than his favorite.

The chief among the Maiar and closest to the Vala’s heart is the spirit known in better days and places as Mairon the Admirable, Maia of Aulë and master craftsman. But that noble spirit is long gone, snatched into chaos by honeyed words and rich promises. Now Mairon is no coy, reluctant servant, trapped in the clutches of a forceful master. He has grown in the dark, feeding on his monarch’s flames to become a lord on his own, a necromancer and a master torturer. Sauron, the Abhorred, they call him, and rightly so. For did you not hear the words of those who escaped him (or, more likely, were let out), did you not see the wounds he left on their bodies and souls? Have you not heard of the torment of King Maedhros? Sauron is not doing these terrible deeds out of fear, believe me. He does it out of love.

They say that his austerity disappears entirely when around his Lord. Instead he is a beast, all darkened eyes, soft mouth, and greedy, greedy fingers. Despite his submissive position in that accursed due, he dares to pounce upon his master whenever he shows him the least hint of desire, ah! He is like a sentient wildfire, preternaturally determined on pleasing his Lord in all aspects. There is nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t rejoice in. Even the foulest and most degrading acts the Eldar can imagine are his deepest pleasure. And he is richly rewarded for his devotion, make no mistake about that! Let’s turn around this corner and sneak down this flight of stairs. Hold my hand as we run! If we are quick and quiet enough, we will escape notice. And then I will show you what I mean when I say that he is rewarded.

This is the throne room. See its vastness and cool, echoing vaults, for it is empty now. But there are times when it is full, when a fire rages in the Troll-high hearth and liquor is passed freely between the foul creatures that howl and fight. The lofty throne is not vacant then but occupied by the Vala, a plaything or two in his lap. Beautiful he is and merciless as he watches the gruesome orgies that unravel before him: unspeakable, gory acts we should not dwell upon lest we lose our courage and flee back to warmth and friends. Don’t lose heart! We came here to explore, remember. We must remain true to our cause if we wish to achieve glory.   

Yes, Mairon is rewarded well for his love. He is given everything he could wish for: dominion over the hordes of Melkor, freedom to craft as he will, and above all: the very fires of the grand Vala’s soul, close enough to burn yet sweeter than anything – quickly, press back into the shadows! Hold your breath if you wish to keep breathing a while longer. Good. This sentinel means that we are close now to the source of all lustfulness in this place. Tip toe around the bend… and here we finally are: the Vala’s personal chambers, to which only the finest prey is ever lured.

Black, heavy doors, carved in forms most fantastic and terrifying. Do you feel that force, like lightning, coming from the other side of the doors? The Vala is there, I am certain, and he is not alone, which means that we are here just on time for a show. Help me lean against the doors, Reader, for they are too heavy for my narrow back to move. Well, what are you waiting for? Come in. This is just a little adventure, you know. What is life without a bit of spice? Remember, no poetry is ever written about the cowardly and tame. The entrance to the room is shadowy, we will keep well out of sight.

Beyond the doors the room is dark and sparsely furnished, yet screams of cruel lasciviousness. A great bed stands by the far wall, strewn and draped in shades of black and blood. Various implements glint by the light of the fireplace: steel chains that hang from the ceiling, cuffs, and bitter-edged blades. Other tools are arrayed on a table, all neat and sharp and pale. I do not advise you to contemplate their meaning, Reader, lest you lose your mind! But the eye is drawn elsewhere, to the center of the room, where two magnificent beings share an intimacy closer than everything you’d ever experienced or heard tell of. We are finally here, and now we’ll see the show we came here for: a tale of reward and punishment.

Lord Melkor reclines on a divan, black robes disarrayed to expose his toned chest and stomach. Gold glitters around his neck: two dragons entwined in battle, so well-crafted that they seem alive. His blacker-than-black hair spills almost to the floor, deepening the shadows. Mairon kneels at the foot of the divan, staring religiously up at the Vala while sucking on his toes. His rose-gold hair gleams in the firelight like molten metal as he worships him with his mouth, his hands, his heart. He is lost forever in the frozen wastes of the Lord’s eyes, which, in turn, appear enchanted by the Maia’s beauty and predatory grace. Power leaps between them as their souls entwine, invisible but felt all too well even by your dull Mortal senses. You gasp, Reader! Do you like this image? I bet you do. Such dark carnality appeals to you, arouses you, doesn’t it? I know I like it. But now the splendid Ainur seem distracted. Both lift their eyes to the doors of the chamber. What are they looking at?

Why, Reader, they are looking at you.

Yes, you. Are you surprised that they can see you? Don’t be ridiculous. Surely you do not question the powers of the greatest of the Ainur, and those of the Human imagination! Both are forms of Deep Magic, both create and change worlds at will. And you _are_ something to look at indeed: as I said, Human sex-slaves are a novelty in these parts.

The Lieutenant licks his lips as he leers at you. Can you see the sharp glint of his teeth? Don’t worry, you will, soon enough. He turns and begs his Lord permission to go and prepare you, pointing at the room’s various hooks and chains. Lord Melkor smiles indulgently at him, reaching to feel the Maia’s groin. His smile widens. Yes, he is given leave to act, for Lord Melkor enjoys sharing his toys with his favorite pet. My Lord Melkor is generous; if I please him well enough, he might allow me to gnaw on your remains when he’s had his fill of you.

Don’t turn away from me like that! Have you truly just noticed my fangs? Why of course: you didn’t ask me what I looked like. You didn’t even bother to ask how I found us a way into this dread fortress, indeed you did not ask me my name before leaping blindly into the jaws of Hell itself. Not that I could tell you, though – I do not remember the name the Hunter gave me. But, then again, I did not serve him ever since I first tasted blood, and the Lightbringer does not bother to name what he knows. And he knows me, make no mistake about it. For don’t I always bring him only the finest for his bed – and his table? And you _are_ fine, sweet Reader, with your lovely form so full of flesh and blood, your lips made just for screaming, your fëa so flitting and mysterious. Do not struggle when the Lieutenant catches your wrists, when he tears off your clothes with razor-sharp talons! Better gaze deep into his beautiful, golden eyes, and pray the kiss of oblivion takes you soon. Because when he is done trussing you up, the Master himself would come to touch you, and aren’t his fingers surprisingly soft and gentle for all the pain they give? Drink in both their beauty while you still have eyes and a soul to appreciate them with. Soon enough, not even death could save you.

Cry, sweetheart, scream and kick at me all you want. Did I not warn you, and warn you, and warn you again not to follow me here? Yet here you are, lured away from the safety of the Elven camp by cheap promises of sex. How foolish you Humans are, prey convinced that it is a predator! But you would learn, you would all learn, when my Lord finally engulfs his entire Kingdom as he does our Maiarin souls and smites you all to dust. Then you will know.

**Author's Note:**

> I told you not to read it.


End file.
